


A Cracked and Twisted Mirror

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Gen, Jackson Whittemore is a Hale, Jackson is in London, Mirrors, Werewolf Jackson Whittemore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Peter knows that Jackson is his son, he wants something from him. Something that Jackson doesn’t want to give up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cracked and Twisted Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for prompt #106 - Mirror at fullmoon_ficlet. I think I keep getting stranger with what I write every week right now! Sorry about the character death (and if you want to jump to the end note to be spoiled on who dies, you can do that and then come back and read if you'd like). As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

“Do you think she saw you in my younger face? Do you think Lydia knew who you really were?” Peter muses, and Jackson’s skin crawls. He wants to get up, to move, to pace, but a simple _order_ holds him where he is, keeps him bound to the seat, fingers curled around the hard plastic surface and claws digging in. Peter smiles at him, and Jackson lifts one corner of his mouth in an answering snarl.

It makes Peter laugh.

“Such a fierce little pup,” Peter murmurs, fingers lingering over the plane of his cheekbone, thumb sliding across Jackson’s eyebrow. “I can see it, now that I know. It seems absolutely impossible to _unsee_ it. Everything that I am is written in your features. My memories are yours, the pack history lies trapped within that mind of yours. To think you were there all along, ripe for the taking but hidden from me by my sister.”

The snarl becomes a growl, loud and low. The plastic seat cracks beneath Jackson’s fingers, but Peter doesn’t seem to care. “What do you _want_?” Jackson growls. “You ignored me for _seventeen years_. You don’t get to find me and be a father _now_.”

Peter laughs again, the sound deep and dark and absolutely delighted. “I don’t intend to be a father. How can I be a father when I never knew I had a son? No, Talia thought this would save you. She has no idea what a gift she has delivered to me, someone like _you_ and someone like _me_.”

Jackson has no fucking clue what Peter’s going on about, but it can’t be good. For one, the monster looks too thrilled with the situation to make him comfortable, and for two… every time Peter speaks, Jackson’s skin crawls, like his body is warning him of danger. There’s a sharp scent in the air and Jackson’s wolf wants to run.

He _would_ run, if he could stand up. If he weren’t pinned here by sharp words and genetics.

“You are my blood,” Peter says quietly. “You are my mirror, my self removed by a half of lifetime. You are risen from the dead, just like me, Jackson. Do you think she saw you in me, or saw me in you? Lydia loves the pretty assholes, doesn’t she? And she will love me more when I carry your blood, when neither of us is a mere reflection. When I _am_ you.”

“What the _fucking_ hell are you talking about?” Jackson yells. He pushes himself forward, feels his ass leave the plastic for a second before he falls back under the weight of Peter’s heated glare. Not blue eyes, not red… somewhere in between, cold as death but lit with fury. Jackson doesn’t know what Peter is anymore, but he has a feeling that he’s the one who’s going to find out.

Unfortunately, he’s in London and everyone else is still in Beacon Hills. There’s no way to call for help.

“Derek gave up his alpha spark to save Cora.” Peter draws one claw down Jackson’s throat, just hard enough to scrape the surface of his skin. “I intend to steal your potential to feed my own. You were Derek’s get, but you are _my_ blood. And you are strong, Jackson. So much stronger than you ever knew. Strong enough that Talia stole your heritage and kept it from you. Strong enough that you survived death and still found your birthright, even though you should never have made it that far. But in the end, you are _mine_ to call and _mine_ to control. And I will take what is mine.”

“Blood means nothing to you.” Jackson spits on the floor, disgusted by this man who sired him. Even David Whittemore is more of a father than this.

“Blood means _everything_ to me.” Peter’s hand slots around Jackson’s throat, squeezing and lifting until he has no choice but to follow, standing on tip-toe and looking down from where he hangs. “Without the bloodline we share, I couldn’t do this.”

Jackson tries to throw himself backwards, to wrench away, but Peter is too fast. He reels from the claws that puncture his chest, the hand that breaks through his ribs and wraps around his heart. He wavers, blood gushing out of him, his heart fluttering against Peter’s palm.

He feels life slipping away, feels the energy rush out of him until Peter’s eyes glow bright red.

That’s _his_ life. _His_ energy. _His_ werewolf spark that Peter is stealing.

Jackson throws himself after it, lets himself rush into Peter as well, twists himself into place on the other side of the mirror as he finds his way into new skin. It isn’t comfortable nor unoccupied, and he has to fight for his space in this body.

But he will not die. He is Jackson fucking Whittemore, and he is the fucking best at everything he does. He will not let Peter Hale get the best of him.

In the end he stands there, a body limp in his hands, pale and drained of blood. Empty of everything, including soul. He wonders if Lydia screams half a world away, and if she knows what has happened.

He takes the time to wash his hands, let his body revert back to human. It feels strange to move this body, taller and older as it is. 

When he looks in the mirror, Peter Hale’s eyes flash brilliant red, and he feels the power of an alpha course through him. But he feels nothing of Peter himself; his father is gone, subsumed by the son he thought to control and consume.

Jackson grins sharply. Peter was right about one thing; he sees himself in the lines of Peter’s face, the way he carries himself. It doesn’t matter anymore; this life belongs to Jackson now. 

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER: Peter tries to kill Jackson, but in the end, Peter is the one who dies.
> 
> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
